


Sessility

by Saniika



Series: Poultice [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Characters will be added as I go - Freeform, Drinking, F/M, Fictional Disease, Friends to Lovers, Hanahaki AU, Happy Ending, Rating May Change, Unrequired Love, victuuri is mentioned, vomiting flowers and blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 02:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11095185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saniika/pseuds/Saniika
Summary: Hanahaki AU: His interactions with Mila stay the same; he wishes he could say that with complete conviction, but it's not entirely true. Her touch feels warmer, his skin tingles at the contact of her body and he has to avert his look quicker when their eyes meet. Georgi does notice a lot more indeed; it is kind of silly when he thinks about it now. He was so selfabsorbed before, caught in the drama and pushing the emotions. He tries to maintain a decorum and meets with a few ladies for harmless dates, but they never advance past first coffee. Georgi is too big of a cavalier to give the ladies false hopes and well, his heart is taken, even if Mila doesn't know. It's just the way his brain works, yet he finds himself conflicted.





	Sessility

**Author's Note:**

> This was beta-ed by fantastic [Olosta](http://archiveofourown.org/users/olosta). Thank you so much! Please check out their work. 
> 
> Sessility - refers to organisms that do not possess means of self-locomotion and are normally immobile  
> Surkot - a term used on female garments in gothic era – more on Surkot to be found [here](http://www.historical-costumes.eu/en/01_middle_ages.html)  
> Karate Kid - American martial arts drama film series from the 90's  
> Sonja Henie - Norwegian figure skater and film star  
> Primavera - La Primavera means the season spring in many Romance languages  
> Stalin’s tears – czech vodka - 37,5% alc  
> Chloris - she was abducted by (and later married) Zephyrus, the god of the west wind.  
> Pupa - Latin pupa for doll - is the life stage of some insects undergoing transformation. 
> 
> Credit: "As she talks, her lips breathe spring roses: I was Chloris, who am now called Flora." Ovid

Yuri comes late frequently and his prickly attitude poignantly brings along a draft from the door leading to the rink. Georgi doesn’t like when that happens, because even if the sight of Mila’s naked back is pleasant, he doesn’t like how her muscles quiver in the cold air. It’s a slight tremor and he can see the delicate skin blessed with goose bumps and there is a shiver coming in a wave from her spine up towards her neck. It breaks the few selective moments he has to appreciate the sight. Mila likes to wear a shirt with an open neckline, vivid pink straps forming a small window. His eyes can’t help but follow the strings and outline the charming space so free to look upon. Georgi thinks of a fitting word to describe it. Ah, yes. Surkot, devil window.

Fortunately, it lasts only a second at most and Mila is back to her usual activities, her form gliding in a quick black blur around the ice. Georgi pauses for a moment and considers how to prevent the unpleasantness with the draft from repeating again. Maybe he could text Yuri early in the morning in a friendly manner and see if he could inspire the younger man to come on time? Hm, yes he could do that, but there is a slight chance Yuri would take pointers to alter his plans and Georgi doesn’t want to come off as controlling. Yuri, as he likes to point out very loudly, already has one control freak in his life as it is.

Before Yakov has finished shouting at the latecomer to "Shut the goddamn door" and barking out penalty points, Georgi makes a mental note. He can bring her a cashmere scarf, which is not too heavy and easily wraps around her neck, long enough to cover her shoulder blades. He is going to visit a friend at Moscow this weekend and thinks it’s a good chance to get a souvenir for her. A nice turquoise color would go with her complexion. Maybe he can ask her about it after the training. He discusses the costumes with her anyway, so it won’t come off as odd inquiring about her favorite color.

He skates towards the edge of the rink to get instructions from Yakov; just this morning he is planning to approach him with more autonomy. He can sense that it will surprise his coach, but since everything changed for Georgi so drastically since the last competition, he is resolute and sure he will master the conversation while meeting his objectives. It’s not like he doesn’t like or trust Yakov with his decisions, it’s just that now he wants to take things into his own hands and act on intuition.

Nights are still often sleepless for Georgi, but when he does wake up, it’s only to remember the dreams and trying to put them down in a small notebook he keeps under his pillow. Georgi dreams of spring. Of warm winds blowing through lush grass and meadows, and Mila running in front of him into the sunlight. He can smell the flowers, their heavy buds bursting with sweet lulling fragrance, filling the air with freshness. Some nights he feels like floating, the others like falling slowly to the ground. It’s not unpleasant at all. There are Mila's hands ready to catch him and he can see her gentle lips, feel the light touches on his cheeks and her fingers thread through his hair while his head lays cradled in her lap. Kind shadow hides him from the bright light. The only thing he regrets is that her face is not clear in the shade, so it is just his imagination which fills in in the gaps.

When Georgi wakes up he feels light even if the back of his throat is itching and he swears he can sense the new snapdragons blossoming in his bronchi. He manages to write down the notes quickly and hurries to the bathroom towards the basin. The buds come now in greater number, growing in size. The strange sensation lingering at the back of his throat is now there on a permanent basis.

He spoke with a specialist and for now it’s not bad enough to take painkillers. He will need those later and as he's been told he will know the right moment.

Yakov only listens and lets him speak, his face unreadable except for a few moments when Georgi can see thoughts flashing through his expression. There in plain sight but not clear enough to decipher. His coach has questions but Georgi knows his teacher well enough. His coach prefers to take time to prepare the questions before asking them. Yakov hates chatter and unnecessary queries, yet he answers to them without reserve. When Georgi was fifteen, Yakov was going through seismic divorce proceedings and during that time the whole Russian team traveled to a summer training in the country. Both he and Victor were still teenagers and oddly enough Yakov considered the stay at the cabin a good chance to compromise between skater drills and enjoying some youth in nature. It did not mean the regimen was looser or less challenging, only the surroundings changed. After years Georgi realized it was good for Yakov to change the setting from Moscov and use the opportunity to cool off. 

One evening a bottle of vodka and Karate Kid tape appeared on the table and everyone gathered in the common room to watch it at Yakov’s not so subtle recommendation. Victor, who had known Yakov the longest, commented in loud whisper that their coach never promoted capitalistic material like that. Maybe it was the fresh air of the country side or the fifty kilometers away from Moscow and Lilia, neither was important; it mattered only that the aging man simply closed his eyes and downed another cup of vodka, without further debate turned on the movie and proceeded to give it a live commentary as if it was a performance by Sonja Henie. It was one of the longest nights of his life Georgi can remember. Yakov is a terrible movie company, talks all the time and then falls asleep. But if you were to turn off the TV, he’d startle from his slumber yelling he was watching it. But what sticks the most in Georgi’s memory is exactly that evening, when Yakov pointed out his attitude towards discourse on the ice.

There are no stupid questions. There are only stupid answers.

Outsiders are afraid to ask, they don’t know and are easily warded off by the old man’s appearance.

And so Georgi waits for another private consultation and explains to Yakov his idea about his new program Primavera. He speaks about Zephyrus the fructifying wind falling in love with Chloris, the girl who breathes spring roses. It is about the new breath of air, a playful, joyful Blue bird who brings hope and love. He wants to avoid the theme of abduction at any cost. The program is about Zephyrus the god of wind, a messenger of spring, throwing himself from the cave in Thrace. Georgi knows on which ballet he wants to base the routine elements, knows which costumes he would like to reference.

He tells Yakov about the disease and pulls out all the cards. He doesn’t flinch under the piercing eyes and if it was possible at all, his voice grows firmer and his posture radiates determination. Yakov is not asking much because he has the answers. He knows it means a lot to Georgi, that he fell in love and is willing to die for it. As much as Georgi is dramatic, he is not a fool and something like that is not a trivial matter; Yakov knows all too well what love means to Georgi. 

He didn’t even ask who the person is, who caught Georgi’s heart in strings. Georgi is once again surprised and comfortingly reassured about just how much the older man knows and how he acts upon that knowledge. While there is a lot at stake for the Russian team to uphold the reputation of the sport, he never forgets to weight the personal life of his skaters on the same scale. It’s impossible to choose between being a skater or Yakov’s child – both come down to the same thing, nothing more and nothing less.

Then it hits Georgi. Yakov knew since the beginning. Probably before any of the teammates reached a senior division age. He is so lucky, more than he had ever fathomed. To find love for a lover and finally notice love from his coach as a surrogate parent. Yakov finishes the conversation with the remaining details; the logistics will be polished as they go. It’s nearly five in the morning and they sit in Yakov’s office. First clattering sounds echo through the rink outside the cardboard walls, signs of people’s arrivals.

“How long do we have.” That is the only reaction to the big news Yakov has. It’s not a question, more a statement. Georgi watches as Yakov’s hands travel to his bottom cabinet drawer and pull out the cheaper vodka. Stalin’s tears, not a high percentage. Yet, Georgi has rarely seen Yakov bend so low in the mentioned drawer. Last time was when Victor eloped to Japan. He is almost distracted, but he does notice the “we” the older man says. It is really so precious and Georgi almost feels silly. So very clear that he has all these caring people around. So natural he found love here in so many shapes. His eyes sting and saliva is starting to build in his mouth, his throat is clenching. It has nothing to do with Hanahaki, it’s the emotion. 

“It’s five in the morning,” Georgi says with an affected voice as two shot are put on the writing desk. It’s a futile statement, but it’s all he can do to lighten up the atmosphere. Shaking off the severity of the situation. Yakov decides to humor him, because he is like that, he can be funny but rarely has the opportunity to show it.

„It's five o'clock somewhere. Besides, its only Stalin’s tears. I‘m saving the good stuff for later.“ Yakov pauses as he is about to pour the vodka in the glasses and after a small hesitation he smiles and walks over to Georgi who is sitting on the falling-apart khaki sofa. The bottle is trusted in Georgi’s hands and he takes it with shaking fingers, taking a quick swig. He coughs a little and gives the bottle back. Yakov downs the rest of the drink without much effort and then his hand rests on Georgi’s shoulder with the weight of the whole world. Yakov looks a lot older, very tired, and a sad shimmer flashes in his pale eyes which search for the answer to his earlier question.

„A year at most.“ Georgi knows in that moment that this is the only thing he regrets and loses confidence about. Disappointing the man who gave him many years of his life and guided him here to this point in time. The office feels a lot smaller, shabbier and worn. Yakov’s shoulders are hunched in a way Georgi never noticed before. Ironically, it is fascinating, because since Georgi realized he is in love he notices so many things he did not before. Now he can see Yakov is sad and somehow the resignation doesn't sit well with his image and Georgi wants to change it, but he doesn't know how. All he can do at the moment is to avert his eyes under Yakov’s earnest gaze. Then the hand from his shoulder disappears and a short grunt is heard, the moment broken as a silent almost whisper comes from above.

„Good. We can work with that, da?“

Yes, they can. He must. With Yakov behind his back he is sure he can pull it off. He is no longer stuck in the state of sessility – a rigid pupa – but ready to shed its shell. 

Few months after catch Georgi a little unprepared. Yakov is adjusting the schedule on a weekly basis, respecting Georgi’s condition. The fits come on a regular basis which can be managed so that others don't notice. If it gets particularly bad Yakov’s office is a safe haven skaters usually retreat to. 

Georgi is focused on his routine more than ever, the change coming later than desired, but not too late to compensate for the loss of time. Victor and Yuuri are quite helpful, as they both had to deal with working under shorttimed conditions. Therefore their input and support are appreciated; none of them asks about the motive behind the change of the program. In the Russian team everyone is used to eccentric work ethic like that and even Yakov shows considerably less frustration than before. All is passed with a simple shake of a head and a prayer to heavens asking how did he deserve this bullshit but so god help him, he'll make it work. 

It's normal and Georgi easily finds a way to make all work according to his plan. The calm doesn't leave him, it's a lot easier than he had imagined. Nothing changes much, all of them still skate at the same rink, the constant schedule changes on the go are not surprising, especially considering Victor training and coaching at the same time, and Yuuri’s arrival to their rink a year before.

Yurio reliably diverts most of the drama his way as his temper grows with his age and multiplying hormones. Georgi wishes he would not put such strain on Yakov, but knows the man is fully capable of managing on his own. It also helps that Victor is settled and his unpredictable restlessness is long gone thanks to Yuuri in his life. Its a strange mix or drama and calmness.

His interactions with Mila stay the same; he wishes he could say that with complete conviction, but it's not entirely true. Her touch feels warmer, his skin tingles at the contact of her body and he has to avert his look quicker when their eyes meet. Georgi does notice a lot more indeed; it is kind of silly when he thinks about it now. He was so selfabsorbed before, caught in the drama and pushing the emotions. He tries to maintain a decorum and meets with a few ladies for harmless dates, but they never advance past first coffee. Georgi is too big of a cavalier to give the ladies false hopes and well, his heart is taken, even if Mila doesn't know. It's just the way his brain works, yet he finds himself conflicted.

Mila is leaning at the barrier of the ice rink, stretching so awkwardly the tension is practically screaming of her form. Yurio is talking to her, more like complaining to her about something Otabek related. Georgi decides to join them for a five minutes break as Yakov is busy talking with Victor and Yuuri on the other side. He walks up to them and dives with ease into the topic.

Both him and Mila listen to Yurio as he doesn't really give any chance of interruption, clearly pissed. Mila laughs and earns a scoff from Yurio and „Baba“ is thrown on her head as usual. Georgi wishes he wouldn't call her that and that she wasn't so used to it either. He steps behind Mila and presses a palm gently on the small of her back, asking for permission.

„May I?“ 

„Ah, yes please.“ Mila turns sideways to catch his eyes and exhales with a heavy sigh. She surrenders to his touch all too easily, used to his massages in between the waiting.

Georgi’s palm warms her skin through the thin elastic fabric, he slides it gently over her shoulderblades and joins with the other on her trapezius. Georgi’s frowns at the tension he feels under his fingers as he gently kneads the muscles. Mila is stiff like Gibraltar; he has to wonder why that is. He hasn't noticed she was in trouble lately, maybe she just doesn't complain so readily like Yurio. Georgi quickly looses track of the conversation as he concentrates on working the muscles and loosening the knots, careful not to cause her pain. He can't feel her skin as he is wearing leather gloves and secretly wishes he could give her better attention with bare fingers and massaging gel. Thankfully they have a hired professional for after the training. Georgi is fine serving as a shortlived substitute.

Suddenly she jolts and calls out with her head bowed low between her arms. 

„Ah, there!“ A moan follows and she stretches further, lowering her upper body down, hands still pressed on the barrier to keep her balance and... her behind pressing against his hips. „Yes!“

Georgi tries to continue his administrations, wrists supporting the pressure invested in her muscles, few knots now successfully loose. He can do this, he is positive. Warmth from the friction is creeping through the gloves and Georgi cannot help but notice the contrast of the shiny black material against her milky skin. Sweet gasps escape her lips, her form quivers in delight under his touch and she stretches even more. Suddenly Georgi is not so sure anymore he can do this without being affected.

Different kind of warmth is pressing into his groin and he knows there will be consequences if he doesn't put a stop to it soon. He inches his hips away as far as possible, avoiding the contact and tries to continue the massage.

She exhales in a candid little speech worthy of a courtesan in her parlor. Her tone drips with honey and is slick with Turkish delight: „Georgi, you are so good at this. No wonder you have no problem getting laid!“

Yurio chokes while he‘s in the middle of taking a sip from the bottle. „Baba! I‘m drinking here for Christ’s sake!“

„What! What did I say? It's true!“ Mila, all too pliant under Georgi’s fingers, tries to defend her forwardness. She turns to Georgi seeking some kinf of moral support but tenses up as she sees that he stands there frozen like a forgotten rod in concrete, hands retreating from her body as if they were holding a hot poker.

He sees her realization, knows he is not quick or skilled enough in the moment to hide the reaction. He did not expect this and finds that his calmness about the whole plan starts to collapse like a wonky house of cards. Mila is so very real and autonomous, beyond his control in his mind's eye. No, that's not it. He doesn't want to control her, anything but that! He just hoped... for what? For some kind of silent dignity and basking in his newfound world, having discrete feelings for her without anything changing between them. But as their eyes meet, he knows everything has changed. If not for her, he can't be the same anymore around her. Mila is too warm, too irresistible, so open, inviting and... close. Too close. He drops his gaze to her hips, which again found their way to his and he can feel in shock he is starting to respond involuntarily.

„Georgi?“ She asks carefully watching his every move. He feels his cheeks burning and he steps away slowly, clearing his tight throat, thousands of thoughts swirling in his mind.

Piercing pain erupts in his chest and he breaks in half under its intensity. His knees buckle, but he manages to keep the balance. His right arm flies to his mouth and his left to clutch at his chest. He is coughing and dread is spilling over him like icecold water from a bucket. If he won't get a grip on the situation, it will be bad, very very bad. The pain combined with fright washes over him, anxiety strengthening the hold on his ribcage, making the plant in his lungs writhe in agony and with new fervor. Georgi is very unsure if he can handle the onslaught of the overwhelming sensation, he can feel his body ready to shut down and leaning towards merciful unconsciousness. He is going to faint any moment.

Mila is at his side, leaning to him, her hand on his back in a gentle caress, she is asking softly with a tender voice. „Georgi, are you ok?“ He can‘t look at her, investing all his effort in supressing the coughing and spitting out the red buds. If she were to catch even a glimpse of them, the red color would make it impossible to miss them. It would make things so much more complicated and he would have to face questions – if not voiced one, the ones lingering in her eyes for sure.

Out of the corner of his eyes he can see Yurio crawling over the barrier, clearly in distress about Georgi’s collapsing form, but then a loud shout echoes through the whole premises, rattling the metal seams like an iron cave. Yakov, the thunder god Thor himself arrives to his rescue, his voice a hammer crushing everyone’s ear.

„Enough! Conversation is over! I want all of you on the ice, now!“

That voice stops everyone in their tracks regardless if it's a tsunami approaching or a bull army stampeding their way. Georgi uses the two seconds to gather the momentum and sprints into the locker room, escaping the scene. Mila and Yurio want to protest and rightfully so, but Yakov leaves no room for discussion, making them comply. He dismisses Georgi’s collapse with a perfectly sound argument and their trained brain takes it with no further questions, limbs ready on autopilot, thoughts focused on the task. 

Yakov makes a broken leg sound like its a chipped nail, something that can be easily fixed and he personally always makes sure he does. It's like he takes all the unnecessary emotions away, minimizing strain and pain for everyone. Terribly practical and efficient. It happens often that he minimizes damage for his skaters, the cases ranging from injuries to media scandals. Last time he made a phonecall with Putin himself and no one dared to blink.

Georgi can clearly hear the shouts as he runs away, even when he is in the bathroom as he heaves over the toilet vomiting whole stems of snapdragons.

Thank god for Yakov. This is the only relief he gets as the thought flashes through his mind. The attack is violent – it is to be expected, just like the doctor said. Time for painkillers then. 

The onslaught of the fits after this incident comes often. Georgi spends less time on the premises, when he is not on the ice in the presence of others. Yakov goes out of his way to come up with preemptive measures to avoid people noticing his condition. For now Georgi can predict when the coughing breaks out and based upon the frequency they have a rough schedule to work with. Any time off the ice is spent at Georgi’s condo, where he does weightlifting and cardio. The ballet training is taken care of as Georgi makes necessary exercises on his own, having adjusted a room at home just for that. He‘s been living as a danseur for a big portion of his life. Yakov doesn't want to take too much favors from Lilia so it‘s only both Yuri’s training under her tutelage.

Georgi is not worried about the training, he is used to hard regimen. It's the time that weights on his mind. Months pass by quicker than he would wish for, each that goes by is closer to the end of the imaginary year the illness is promising.  
There is also another promise coming true soon, a joyful atmosphere at their home rink. The blessed couple is finally getting married after a year of waiting. Victor is skating his last season, but there is no room for regrets, the couple is so excited preparing the wedding. In fact Victor is the one most exhilarated and Yuuri has to calm him down. No, they really do not need so many flowers and yes, hundred people are enough guests.

Even now the break for lunch is spent on playful banter and harmless arguments. Yurio is adamant about a tiger pattern for the suit of the best man, Victor is greatly appalled and swears he isn't going to ever let that happen on his own wedding. Yurio should have known by now. Tiger pattern does not go well with hydrangea arrangements. The boutonniere would clash with the visuals!

The break is nearing its end and while the two Russians don't seem to reach the end of the discourse, Yuuri makes sure to go ahead and engage Yakov in putting at least some safeline on the situation. Yuuri is good with compromising between Yakov and Victor, his presence often proving a buffer. 

Georgi stays behind with Mila in the resting area, sitting at the table, borscht half finished. The buzzing of the neon lamp above their heads and simple plastic table cloth creating a familiar setting is calming for Georgi. The morning was very tiring as he went through vomiting his entire breakfast and a bucket worth of snapdragons. The painkillers are effective only for a short period and he has to seek out a different brand soon in order for them to stay useful. He has enough experience from the ballet, so it isn‘t an issue. Lost in thought he is playing with the metal clasp holding down the table cloth, observing the printed flowery pattern. There is a tiny hole in between the patterns and Georgi finds a small smile still lingers on his face because of the argument. Victor and Yurio moved to the hallway, much to Yuuri’s relief. The sooner they are back at the rink, the sooner they will have Yakov off their throat.

Mila is talking about the wedding and laughs, Georgi is still transfixed with the table cloth and feeling the cold clasp under his fingers. He realizes that he likes this moment a lot. If he could he would trap it in a glass bottle and keep it forever. All his loved ones close by, joyful, excited and warm. They all look forward with expectations to the big change in their lives. Wedding makes people very happy, Georgi thinks. Mila sounds happy as well, it is good to hear her voice like that. Even if her relationships aren't deep, Georgi is glad she managed to be satisfied and can find happiness in others. He loves her even more. The months mean nothing, his feeling grow just like the flowers in his chests. Sometimes he is not sure what exactly he is choking at. At first it made him feel strong, as if he could tear down trees and move mountains, the rush of euphoria. But now in moments like these, when she is so close to him and he is so close to the end of the year, he finds he is a little scared. He just doesn't dare to put it into clearly defined thoughts, he doesn't allow it into his mind.

Her laugh is coming from his side, very close to his face now, and without looking her way his attention is pulled away from his foolish meanderings. Like usual she is not abashed and moves closer with her chair, tears from the laughter in her eyes, and she throws her right arm over his shoulder, her leg hooking over his thigh. She is practically hanging off him and rocking back and forth in a fit, goes even further by patting him on his shoulder. 

„Oh my god, can you believe that. Aaaah! Georgi! A tiger pattern, with violet hydrangeas! Did you see their faces, they were so angry! I‘m crying!“

Mila leans on his chest, the volume of her breast presses on his pectoral and much to his discomfort he can feel her hardened nipple through her top and sports bra. It's only a moment, but he can't deny the friction and a wave of warmth that floods over his chest, and the curling of his toes. Mila is a beautiful woman aware of her charms, but painfully oblivious to other people’s personal space. Then again she doesn't need to be aware around her rinkmates. Physical clinginess has always been a trademark of hers, it's almost as if the lack of love in her romantic relationships is compensated in seeking out tactile stimuli.

Georgi is a gentleman and he can manage his urges. It's silly to blame a woman for his lack of self-control. Fortunately he learned this from an early age from his mother. Yet there comes an additional burn again, his lungs itching with the familiar sensation and he can feel the sweet taste on his pallate, the bruises not having had enough time to heal since morning. As she leans her weight even more on his body, his muscles clench and he tenses with breath stuck in his throat. Her fragrance is enveloping him in delicate but insistent embrace. Lavender, a herb that helps you sleep and eases off anxiety. How ironic.

Before it gets too late Georgi shoves her away in a bit of a rush and with more force then he wishes to in an effort to get her limbs away from his body. The distance doesn't cure his Hanahaki, but at least she won't witness him puking all over the linoleum floor. Mila is startled and slightly embarrassed when she sees his awkward expression. He avoids looking at her for a while, heavy eyelids resting on his cheeks in an effort to gain composure. She asks, again with that voice, disbelief in her tone. Gentle, soft. Oh, so delicate. Never wanting to hurt.

„Georgi?“

He has to look at her blue eyes and sees her brows slightly bent, confusion clearly written on her face. Where is his resolution, where is the strength from the beginning of the year? How proud and foolish he was. Love so strong, so true cannot be so easily avoided without any consequences. It's a tidal wave, ripping away pondweed and chunks of mud, carrying whole trunks with the flow. Love is like a flood for him, coming with a storm, filling the streets he walks on, leaking into premises he resides in. He can barely tread in all that water and by the end of the year he is sure he will suffocate.

Yet she will always stay Chloris, her lips breathing spring roses, and never Flora, the wife of Zephyrus.

In that moment he is sure she can see everything, all his thoughts, fears and hopes. He is but a single sessible pupa hidden in a seethrough chrysalis, vulnerable and bare. Mila watches in awe and perhaps in fright, but doesn't fight his hand away as he reaches for her. His trembling fingers touch her lower lip, fingertips briefly howering on it like he is afraid to bruise or god forbid to soil her.

Georgi is so weak and breaks in front of her, crushed under the knowledge that he cannot be the friend she is used to, cannot stand the closeness. He is a traitor, who can't give her the little she wants without wanting something back, yearning for her so desperately it literally pulls the air from inside of him.

But he is honest enough to acknowledge it aloud.

„I can‘t.“

And like a coward he is, he leaves her in the cafeteria and exits the rink. He doesn't even wait for her to react. He messages Yakov on his phone the minute he finds a bench in the park. The game is over, he can't pretend anymore all is the same as before. He has to look at his options and see how he will proceed further. Operation was never an option, but he won't press Mila into pitying him and burden her with the guilt. This love, all that he has, means too much to him. But Mila means more. Without her there would be no flowers. He just has to find a way of making them bloom in such a way that they would celebrate the spring.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> In the text I am not directly referencing to the Primavera painting by Sandro Botticelli, but it is a huge influence on the story. You can read more and see the painting [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Primavera_\(painting\)).
> 
> You can find artwork I did for Poultice AU on my art tumblr: http://saniika.tumblr.com/tagged/poultice NSFW!!!  
> My writing blog is here: https://makkachuuri.tumblr.com/
> 
> To get updates for the story please subscribe to the Poultice series.


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